


Cloudbursting

by Crollalanza



Series: Cats [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Multiple Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout his childhood and beyond, Kuro's sheltered Kenma from the clouds.  </p><p>He says they have a connection. It's Fate.</p><p>But Kenma isn't so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloudbursting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adelaida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelaida/gifts).



> Another birthday fic for the wonderful Aleks, inspired by her fantastic art.

**This story was inspired by[this art](http://black-leather-sketchbook.tumblr.com/post/112805896690/it-was-supposed-to-be-a-happy-and-cute-picture) from Aleks.**

 

 

He’s fourteen years old when he realises that the fug in his mind isn’t normal. When he starts to understand that the sadness he feels isn’t the same as Kuro’s sadness. That the lethargy in his limbs is etched into his soul, and there’s really no point in trying any more.

Kuro’s sadness, those odd days when he doesn’t smile, when he sounds bitter have a very real cause, rooted in family rows, punctuated with punches. No one could live through what he has and remain unscathed. Kuro tries, but there are times, Kenma knows, when it becomes too much and he escapes to the outside, roaring his inadequacies to the skies, sweating out his anger and pain and tears.

Kenma has no such recourse. He’ll lose himself in a game for a while, adrenaline shots piercing through the grey, but then the inevitable happens and he has to put it down for school, or food, or sleep.

His mum wants him happy; she begs it of him every single day, not with words, but every gesture, the hair stroking, her laugh, the pinch of his cheeks, the plate of food placed before him, all these are there for one purpose – to see her son to smile at her. So he complies, mostly. But there are some days or weeks when he can’t manage even a tug at the corners of his mouth, then her lips droop, and his dad shouts and shakes him by the shoulders.

Kuro shelters him from the clouds.

That this boy, this fury of life, wants to spend time with him gives him hope, because he’s earthed by friendship. And he’s grateful, so grateful, that Kuro sticks around, that Kuro puts himself out for him, because Kenma’s nothing special, just a kid far on the outskirts looking in.

 

Kuro says they have a connection. Kenma thinks it’s based on childhood, a shared history because who’d want to be friends with him. Kuro won’t accept that, telling Kenma it’s more than history.

“Fate,” he mutters. “We’re soul mates.”

Kenma kind of nods, which Kuro’s happy with, but inside he’s weary. He doesn’t like the idea of Fate because that means this is it.

“It’s like a game.” He tries to explain his fears. “I don’t want to end up dead, ruining everything, and having to start again, because I know how hard it is getting back to the level you were on.”

Kuro strokes his cheek, one finger trailing to his upper lip. “This is _us_ we’re talking about, Kenma.”

 _But what is ‘us’?_ Kenma wonders, not for the first time. _And what happens if I can’t get past level one? Does our game end here?_

***

 “I c’n wait for ya, Kenma,” Kuro breathes. “Wait ‘til ya ready.”

And although – or maybe it’s because – he cares for Kuro, he can’t bear them to be stuck at level one because some invisible red string binds them together.

He shakes his head, determined for once, even in the face of Kuro’s utter faith that they belong together. “It’s not fair. I might never be, and where does that leave you?”

Kuro shrugs, but it’s stiff and Kenma sees the greyness inside belying his affected air of casualness.  He tightens his hold, resting his head on Kuro’s chest, momentarily wishing he could feel more, that he could be what Kuro wants because all the world knows he owes him.

“What you saying, Kenma?”

“Don’t wait.”

And Kuro swallows. The silence is palpable. Kenma knows Kuro has a speech prepared, full of persuasive arguments, reasons why it’ll get better, how they’re Meant To Be. How Fate will sort it out. But he says none of that.

This is goodbye. Not forever. They’re too deeply entwined for a forever. But it’s a farewell to the ‘us’ Kuro had yearned for. (And Kenma, too. He’d wanted so desperately for this to work, but some things can’t work, just as some matches – whatever Kuro says - are unwinnable.)

“Hey, no tears,” Kuro mutters, ignoring his own as he rubs his cheek on Kenma’s hat. “I ain’t giving up on you, Kenma.”

“Please, Kuro.”

“Just ... uh ... know I’ve always got your back, okay?” He leans away, holding Kenma at arms’ length and his mouth turns upwards, chasing the clouds in his eyes away. Then he sniffs. “But ... uh ... yeah, I won’t wait.”

 

* * *

 

[(picture here)](http://i-like-to-look-at-your-back.tumblr.com/post/124265492148/kiss03)

“Do you believe in Fate, Shouyou?”

“Huh?”

“Fate. Things that are meant to be.”

“Uh ... sorta.”

Shouyou’s eyes gleam, and Kenma knows he’s remembering something – probably volleyball related.  So he turns away, reaching for his coat because it’s cold today and he’ll need more than a sweater. He shivers thinking about the snow, but it’s no use, he can’t stay inside just because it’s winter – not with Shouyou here. It would be like trapping a tiger, and wondering why it tears the place apart.

_Where’s my hat?_

 “Like when I got my team shirt,” Shouyou’s saying. “It’s number ten. Okay, so at first I thought it was deliberate, but Ukai-san said it was a coincidence. So it must be Fate, right? And that’s why I kept my shirt. Ten’s lucky for me.”

“Shirt number?” Kenma shakes his head. “What?”

“The Small Giant was ten,” Shouyou explains, sounding almost patient for him. “So, it’s Fate, don’t you think?”

“Coincidence,” Kenma mutters. “Or Ukai-san was being kind but didn’t want to admit it.”

Tilting his head to one side, Shouyou considers. His mouth is a perfect ‘o’, and for a moment, Kenma wonders if he’s upset, if his world view has been unbalanced by Kenma’s theory, but then he smiles, all wide-eyed and excited.

“That’s better, then. That’s like ... it kinda fits in with what my dad said.” He reaches for his coat, too, and a bright blue bobble hat, pulling it over his mass of orange hair, so it looks like the sun is rising in sky, scorching a path through the clouds.

“Which was what?”  Kenma frowns because his usual hat is missing, and there’s only the one Lev bought him for his birthday.

“That’s kinda cute,” Shouyou says, and leans forward, stroking the little cat ears on Kenma’s hat, inadvertently brushing his cheek with volleyball calloused fingertips.

At least Kenma thinks it’s inadvertent, but when Shouyou suddenly whips his hand away and fumbles with buttons on his coat, he’s not so sure.

“What did your dad say?” Kenma asks again.

“Uh ... oh ... yeah. Right, when I got the shirt, I was telling him about it and he kinda laughed. What he said was that Fate had nothing to do with it. Like, it wasn’t  just a coincidence, but something I’d worked for.”  He turns his headlight beam of a smile on Kenma, whose breath hitches just for a second. “He said if I’d left it to Fate, and not studying, then I’d never have got into Karasuno. So I kinda made my own Fate, like ... like we make our own luck by practising hard.”

As he lets Hinata’s chatter flow over him, Kenma feels something inside him lighten.

“And ‘course if I hadn’t got to Karasuno, I’d never have met you,” he continues, his eyes flickering away from his buttons and to Kenma’s face.

There’s a chink of light, small at first, but searing a path through the fog in his mind and he knows he’s not bound to anyone, or anything.

“Damn, I forgot my gloves. Have you got any spares, Kenma?” Shouyou asks after a while.

“We can share,” mutters Kenma. Pulling some gloves out of his pocket, he hands Shouyou one.

“Nah, you’ll get cold. I’m fine like this.”

“Share,” he insists, and such is his tone, that Shouyou blinks a little.

 _Make my own Fate_ , Kenma thinks.

And he turns to Shouyou, now fixing his own smile and wide amber cats eyes on him and holds out his hand. Because maybe, just maybe, this sunshine boy has scorched through his clouds. “We could keep each other warm.”

***

 

In dreams, he can’t hide. However hard he jokes during the day, mockery dripping from his lips, at night the shadows don’t just emerge but take over.

For a while, quite a _long_ while, he has coped by studying hard, then flitting from match to match, bar to bar, bed to bed, anything to drown out the fact that Kuroo Tetsurou is worth nothing.

But it’s a struggle, proving his past wrong. And now, more keenly than before, he feels the hollows in his life that no one since they said goodbye has been able to fill.

It hadn’t bothered him before. He needed no one. Things were fine the way they were, and not waking up to someone was cool because, when it came down to it, he’s better off alone. 

Except that now he’s stopped waiting.

On his bedside cabinet, his phone is face down. He should turn it upwards in case the screen gets scratched, but if a message comes through then the light will shine, and Kuroo doesn’t want _him_ wake. Maybe he should turn the phone off. It would be better than watching and waiting for a chink of light, for that buzz in case it vibrates. He reaches for it, not entirely sure what he’s going to do because it’s possible he missed something earlier in the night. Perhaps he dozed off and a message has been sent, or a call was missed. Maybe ...

“He hasn’t called.”

Kuro swallows. “You’re awake.”

“It’s hard not to be when you’re as tense as a coiled spring,” he grumbles as he places his fingertips on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Sorry.” He turns over, nestling into the other man’s chest.

“Check it if you want. I _really_ don’t mind.”

“I was going to turn it off, actually.”

“Ah ... okay. That’s good,” he replies. His fingers furl into Kuroo’s hair, lacing through the tangles, and Kuroo curls around him, now resting his head on his shoulder.

“As I’m awake ...Do you want to talk?” It’s not a begrudging offer, but a hesitant one, and usually Kuroo would shake it off saying he’s fine, but for some reason tonight, he can’t let it go.

“I hate it.”

“You hate him being happy.”  It’s not a question, more a musing statement.

“No, yes. NO! I ... I want him to be happy. I’ve always wanted that.”

“So ...”

“I hate it. I hate _me_.”

“Because you’re not responsible.”  He shrugs Kuro off him, removes his fingers from his hair, but instead of rolling away, he strokes his cheek. “You like fixing things, don’t you?”

“How d’ya figure that out? ‘Cause I’m a medical student?”

“No.”  He drops a kiss on his brow. “It’s been going on for a lot longer. Way before even those training session in Tokyo.”

There’s a pause, and then Kuroo wraps his arms around him, breathing in the scent of the soap on his skin.

“It’s been going on your whole life, I reckon. Trying to fix the parts you thought were broken,” he whispers.

And then he sighs, and his fingers tighten once more in Kuroo’s thatch of hair.

“Maybe there’s nothing left to fix, Tetsurou. And maybe it’s that you hate.”

“When did you get so wise, kouhai?”

He feels a nip at his shoulder and chuckles a little.

“I am _not_ your kouhai.”

His tone is so snappish, that Kuroo can’t help the smirk erupting on his lips as he imagines the scowl. He tilts his head up, gazing at the pale pearlescent skin, and the hair that at night gleams like moonbeams.

“When did you get so wise, Kei?”  he amends softly.

He’s rewarded with a tiny smile, and a wrinkling of his nose, and then Kei crooks his head down and very slowly kisses him on the lips.

“About three, four years ago,” he murmurs. “I met this guy. He was known as a ‘Provocation Expert’. He ... uh ... taught me a few things. Like how people tick. It’s useful.”

“Touché!”

“Mmm.”

Pulling away, Kei reaches over Kuroo and picks up the phone. “Shall I switch it off?”

“Yeah ... I think I can sleep now.”

“Sleep?” He smiles again. “Are you sure?”

And as Kei’s hand drops to his thigh, splaying out his fingers, Kuroo’s not sure at all.

 

**[Final picture here.](http://i-like-to-look-at-your-back.tumblr.com/post/123794523503/insecurities-for-kurotsukkiweek-day-5-painting) **


End file.
